


Inside Knowledge

by marginaliana



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 17:16:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13276164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/pseuds/marginaliana
Summary: Rehearsed jokes, bunny slippers, and tea that isn't boiled yet.





	Inside Knowledge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misbegotten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/gifts).



It was easy, in retrospect, to recognize the moment when it had happened. They were underground, in the monstrosity that was to be the new Q Branch. Bond was reporting in, being introduced to the new space and, allegedly, returning the tech he'd used on his previous mission. 

There was, as usual, a rather small amount of tech remaining. Bill, who handled the budgets, was well aware of how much it all cost. He wondered if Bond had any idea, or if he even cared. Still, Bond got results, and it wasn't up to Bill to decide how much those results were worth. Even if he did think that Bond's stunts were, at times, not strictly necessary.

Q seemed to think so, too – or at least to put on the veneer of thinking so, which was prudent given his position in the agency – and so he was giving Bond a bollocking. But, equally, it seemed like he couldn't quite resist making a joke of it. Couldn't stop wanting to impress. 

That was the beauty and the trouble of Bond. People always wanted to impress him. Bill was no exception, although they'd worked together long enough that he'd mostly grown out of it, and he was self-aware enough to recognize it when the urge came on again. But Q… he was young. It was easy to forget that, when he was bossing his subordinates around, when he was rattling off techno-speak at the speed of light, when he was arguing fiercely with M about where their research priorities should be. Only in moments like these – or when he was slumped at his desk at half-three in the morning, elbows sticking out of the ratty elbows of his jumper, or when he was joyfully depositing tinsel-covered holiday tat on every researcher's desk – did Bill remember just how young Q actually was. 

"I believe I said 'bring it back in one piece,'" Q told Bond. "Not 'bring back _one piece_.'"

It was a good line, even though it had obviously been carefully prepared, and Bill couldn't help sniggering a little. Then Bond gave him a prissy look and it was forceful enough to wipe the grin off his face. The whole thing lasted no more than a breath before Q and Bond carried on arguing, or bantering, or flirting, or whatever the hell it was. 

But looking back, Bill could identify that as the moment. The moment when he really saw Q, really saw that sharpness with a little hint of sweetness underneath, that almost-silliness, that desire to impress. The moment when he knew that he wanted to have it all directed at himself instead of Bond.

He was used to being invisible; that was pretty much what he'd been hired for. Fade into the background, be present but so unmemorable that people spoke without thinking. Observe. Remember. Assist when necessary but only to smooth the way, not to lead. Be on the outside, but have all the inside knowledge. Know them, but don't be one of them.

Bill knew he was good at the job, and he took a certain amount of pride in it. Which meant that even in the moments when invisibility stung, he could put it aside. But it still stung.

 

And then after that moment in Q branch, everything went to hell, and he stopped having time to even think about thinking about it.

 

The memory of that moment came back days later. Things were over – or, at least, as over as they could be when there was still mountains of clean-up to handle – and Bond was gone. Again. Eve had suggested they bet on how long it would take for him to come back; the idea spread quickly through the office and soon they had a nice substantial pool going. Bill had chosen three months and two days, which he thought was probably optimistic. Or pessimistic, depending on how one felt about Bond.

He'd expected Q to be upset about the whole thing, given the flirting and the number of times they'd saved each other's lives over the last few months. Mutual life-saving did seem to lead to emotional attachment. But instead Q was his usual self – a bit exhausted, a bit absent-minded, but they were all working late hours and early hours to put all of the broken things back together. Q didn't look any worse than the rest of them.

Bill was puzzling over it while he drank his tea – at two am, because he needed a break from sorting the vast pile of paper scraps that had been salvaged from the remains of the building but he also didn't dare go home and sleep – when the door to Mallory's office squeaked open.

Q shuffled in; he was wearing pink bunny slippers and his hair looked like a dog had been rolling around in it, and he was obviously as surprised to see Bill as Bill was to see him.

"Oh," he said blankly. "You're here already?" He glanced at the cheap clock that someone had hung on the wall. "Or still here, I guess."

"Still here," said Bill, unable to keep from smiling a little. "You?"

"I'm not sure," said Q. "I think I'm still here, but I might be still here again."

Bill snorted. "The worst thing is that makes complete sense to me." He ran his thumb over the lip of his mug. "Tea?"

"Please."

Bill had hidden the box of tea behind a filing cabinet, which would normally have been a poor attempt at stealth in an agency full of spies except that they were all too tired to bother with hunting for things. He tugged it out and selected a bag of Q's favorite, then flipped on the kettle. "Did you come up for tea, then?"

"Came to put my money in the pool," Q said with a yawn, pulling up Eve's chair. 

"Inside knowledge is cheating," Bill said. He tore open the tea packet and dropped it into a clean mug, then pulled open the top drawer of the cabinet and pulled out the sugar. 

"Does everyone think I have inside knowledge?" said Q, sounding bemused.

"Well," said Bill. "Yes." 

"I don't," Q said. "Unless you count my algorithm based on all of his previous disappearances. Which I suppose is inside knowledge in the sense that I have access to his personnel record."

"I think that's just making good use of available resources," Bill said, and he knew as soon as the words came out that his absurd surge of pleasure had bubbled up enough to be obvious. "Which is good," he said, fumbling slightly in an attempt to cover. "Ah. Professionally. For the agency."

"Mmm," said Q, which could have been agreement but wasn't, not with the way he was looking at Bill, one eyebrow raised. 

Bill flushed. "Oh, Christ," he said, turning away to reach for the kettle, although it hadn't clicked off yet. He was too tired to have this conversation – then again, being so tired was probably the only reason he was _having_ this conversation. After a good night's sleep he'd have been far more in control of himself. The trouble was, he hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks.

"Tanner," Q said quietly, and then, "Bill. It hasn't boiled yet."

"Right." Bill dropped his hands. "Sorry."

Q kicked him in the ankle with one of his bunny slippers. "It could boil in a bit, when it's got more energy."

"What?" Bill said, because that made no bloody sense at all. He turned back without thinking about it, more confused than embarrassed, and caught sight of the little smile on Q's lips. "Oh. Really?"

"Yes, really," Q said, and then, "It's strange to see you flustered. I rather like it."

" _Why_?"

Q grinned. "It's inside knowledge."

Bill thumped his knee with the mug. "You smug git," he said, but he was smiling. Behind him, the kettle clicked. 

"Oh, look," Q said. "Boiled." He took the mug out of Bill's hands, set it on the filing cabinet, and leaned in to kiss him.

They were both too tired for it to be an athletic sort of kiss, but it was a good one nonetheless. Bill found himself sighing into it, feeling the soft curve of Q's mouth against his own. He reached up and curled his hands into the wild mop of hair and they kissed for a long, long moment. 

"Definitely boiling," Q said, when they broke apart. "Fucking exhausted, but having the potential to be somewhat incandescent."

"You know, sleep is necessary for workplace efficiency," said Bill. He was smiling like an idiot. "I'm told."

Q snorted. "I'm not sure I remember what that's like. Sleep, I mean. Or efficiency, to be honest."

"There's a cot in the back room," Bill said. "And it's two in the morning and…" He hesitated. "There are blankets. Not as exciting as scalding hot tea, but they'd be warm." It was really stretching the metaphor at this point, but it seemed to be working for him so far. He slid his hands down Q's neck and then out over his thin, bony shoulders.

"I—Yeah," said Q. Something of his utter exhaustion seemed to steal over him again. "Yeah, that sounds bloody wonderful."

Bill felt his own tiredness seeping in. He tugged Q up out of the chair. "Come on, then. Although you'd better make sure to get your bet into the pool on Bond's return first. With your algorithm you could win the whole pot."

"Oh, I suppose," said Q, leaning against Bill's side. "Put me down for a hundred and fourteen days, would you? Half one in the afternoon."

"Half one in the afternoon?" Bill asked incredulously, but he pulled his notebook out of his pocket and jotted it down.

"Could be quarter to two, if there's a departmental lunch. He'll want to make a scene."

"Of course he will." The notebook went back into his pocket and then the two of them staggered to the door behind Mallory's desk. Bill flicked on the overheads in the back room, then turned off the ones in the office. When he looked back he could see the tiny green light on the kettle telling him that the water was hot. But that was okay. It could wait.


End file.
